


俺の者から離れろ! [Get away from what's mine!]

by besanii



Series: 学園小説 [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blushing, Bullying, Crushes, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Yankee!Enjolras, first year!Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1714358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besanii/pseuds/besanii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a shock of blonde hair weaving amongst the lumbering figures that is their tormentors, throwing well-timed punches at their faces and stomachs that send them toppling onto the ground.  A fluttering black coat lies forgotten on the ground.</p>
<p>“Oh my god,” Marius squeaks, “that’s <i>Enjolras</i>.”</p>
<p>In which Grantaire is the freshman in the Photography club who gets rescued by Enjolras the Yankee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	俺の者から離れろ! [Get away from what's mine!]

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on [this post](http://besanii.tumblr.com/post/86598147903/what-if-enjolras-wasnt-the-school-president-tho-what) and [this post](http://besanii.tumblr.com/post/86696554758/i-meant-to-sent-this-last-night-but-i-fell-asleep), in which Enjolras is not the golden boy of the school and is actually a troublemaker.
> 
> He's also a really awkward baby who has a really big crush on Grantaire.
> 
> For reference, Yankee is a Japanese term for delinquents who typically dye their hair blonde or orange and smoke/drink/skip classes and are generally useless layabouts. Which Enjolras could totally be, if he were just into rebelling against the system.

Grantaire has his camera clutched tightly in both hands and is sprinting for the Photography Club room when it happens.

In retrospect, he could have paid more attention to where he was going, or maybe not even have been running across the courtyard in the first place.  Nevertheless, he had been running and he hadn’t been looking and that’s when he crashes right into someone and sends them both sprawling into the dirt.

He ends up on his back, arms and legs akimbo, and his camera clatters across the ground several metres away.  He’s dimly aware of shocked voices murmuring above him, but he’s lost his glasses and quite literally can’t see past the end of his nose, so when he finally manages to sit up and put them back on, it’s too late.

“What the hell d’ya think ya doin’, runt?”

_Oh no_ , Grantaire thinks.   _Oh no, oh no, oh no –_

A hand curls around the front of his blazer and drags him roughly to his feet until he is balanced precariously on his toes, only scant inches away from Brujon’s snarling face.  Grantaire tries not to gag on the smell of garlic on his breath, his eyes darting around him – Clasquesous and Guelemer have a skinny boy pinned face-down on the ground between them, while Babet is slightly further away, bending down to pick up –

“No!”  He starts struggling in Brujon’s grasp.  “Not my camera!”

“Oh?  You mean this camera?” Babet says, holding it up.  Grantaire nods frantically and gasps when he tosses it in the air.  He catches it again and grins.  “I don’t know, I think I might sell it.  Looks expensive enough.”

“No, please –”

Babet laughs and pockets the camera, deaf to Grantaire’s pleas.  He saunters over to join Clasquesous and Guelemer and crouches down so he can grab a fistful of hair from the boy between them.  He yanks his head back and the boy groans.  Grantaire recognises him as Marius from Class 1-1.

“Stop it!” he cries.  “Stop it, you’re hurting him!”

Brujon shakes him until his teeth rattle.

“That’s the fucking point,” he says.  He raises his fist threateningly in Grantaire’s face  “Now don’t get in our way, you little shit.”

Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath, his heart hammering in his chest at the anticipated blow.  It never comes.  Instead, he’s dropped back on his feet, which collapse under the sudden weight – he slumps on the ground, wide-eyed with shock; beside him, Marius has been freed from his captors and is crawling towards him.  And that’s when Grantaire sees.

There’s a shock of blonde hair weaving amongst the lumbering figures that is their tormentors, throwing well-timed punches at their faces and stomachs that send them toppling onto the ground.  A fluttering black coat lies forgotten on the ground.

“Oh my god,” Marius squeaks, “that’s _Enjolras_.”

Enjolras takes down all four of his opponents in record time, and leaves them in a heap at Grantaire’s feet when he’s done.  He turns to face Grantaire and Marius, still on the ground, and grunts.

“You okay?”

Grantaire is too busy staring to reply.  The blonde hair he’d noticed earlier is gelled up into wild spikes, a hint of dark hair peeking through near the scalp, and his white school shirt is unbuttoned.  He can see the blood-red t-shirt Enjolras is wearing underneath it, an English phrase Grantaire can’t make out scrawled across the chest in bold lettering.  His pants are baggy and there are several thin chains looped around his belt.

Grantaire has heard of him.

“You’re the _Yankee_.”  The words tumble from his lips before he can catch them.  As Enjolras frowns, Marius elbows him roughly.

“You can’t just _call_ someone a _Yankee_ ,” he hisses.  “He might kill you!”

Grantaire pales and starts apologising, cowering on the floor.  Marius copies him, and they’re prostrating themselves at Enjolras’ feet until he scowls.

“Stop that,” he snaps.

The irritation in his voice is enough to make Grantaire pause, but he doesn’t lift his head.  He hears Babet groan from the bottom of the pile of bullies, and the bodies shift until his head pokes out from between Brujon and Guelemer’s legs.

“You’ll pay for this, Enjolras.”

Enjolras snorts.

“Somehow I doubt it.”  He kicks the body closest to him not hard enough to cause pain, but enough to make Clasquesous gasp.  “Montparnasse isn’t here to save you.”

“You still got nothing on him,” Babet says with a glare.

“What’s he gonna do – beat me up?”  Enjolras’ lips twist into a smirk.  “As I recall, he’s never beaten me, not even once.  Do you really think he could _threaten_ me?”

He bends down to grab his coat before walking over to Grantaire.  There’s a pause, during which Enjolras shakes out the long folds of the trenchcoat, before the dark material is draped heavily across his shoulders.  He freezes and stares up at Enjolras with confusion, but Enjolras has one hand clamped tightly on Grantaire’s shoulder.

“No one will lay a finger on you again,” he says loudly.  “And if they do, they’ll have to answer to me.”

He helps Grantaire to his feet with a hand under his elbow and they start making their way along the corridor until Grantaire gasps and tries to turn in Enjolras’ grasp.

“My camera!” he gasps.  “It’s still in Babet’s pocket!”

Enjolras grunts and goes back to get it.  As he does so, Marius comes scuttling up towards Grantaire.  He stares at the coat around Grantaire with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“That’s _Enjolras_ ’ coat,” he says with awe.  His hand hovers inches away from the collar.  “ _Can I touch it?_ ”

Grantaire lets him run his hands along the stiff collar, feeling uncomfortable with the increasingly excited expression creeping onto his face as he does so.  

“Oh man, that’s _so cool_ ,” Marius says.  “You’re totally part of his gang now – Les Amis, you’ve heard of them.  They practically own the school and you’re dating their leader!”

“Wait, what –” Grantaire splutters, pulling up short.  “We’re not dating – I’ve never even talked to him before today!  What!”

“He gave you his coat,” Marius tells him.  He grabs the coat again for emphasis.  “ _No one gets the coat_.  And he saved you from those guys.  He’s practically staked his claim!”

“Staked his–!” Grantaire begins indignantly, his voice rising several octaves, but they’re interrupted by Enjolras clearing his throat behind them.  He’s got Grantaire’s camera in his hands, but makes no move to hand it back.

“Let’s go, Grantaire,” he says, motioning for him to follow.  “I’ll walk you to the Photography room.”

Marius squeaks as he brushes past them, jumping aside at the contact.  Enjolras pauses and glances down at him with barely concealed confusion, as if he’d just noticed he was there.

“Who are you?” he asks.  Marius beams.

“My name’s Marius!” he says.  “I’m from Class 1-1!  Thank you for helping us!”

“Huh.”  Enjolras shrugs and reaches over to wrap an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders.  “Come on, Grantaire.  You’re already late.”

They leave Marius behind, waving at their backs.

“Bye guys!” he calls.  “Thank you!”

 

\--

 

The walk to the Photography room is mostly silent, except for Enjolras toying with the straps of Grantaire’s camera, making clacking noises as he tugs on it.  Grantaire is huddled inside Enjolras’ coat – a ridiculous black trenchcoat that falls almost to his ankles, given their height difference – like he’s afraid to touch it at all.  Enjolras steals sidelong glances at him out of the corner of his eyes and purses his lips.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks finally.  Grantaire opens and closes his mouth several times before he says the first thing on his mind.

“I’m not yours!”  He slaps a hand over his mouth when Enjolras pauses in mid-stride and stares at him.  He swallows thickly and presses on.  “I mean, I – thank you for helping us out back there, you really didn’t have to, but –”

“Grantaire.”  Enjolras turns around to face him, his hands reaching up to clasp Grantaire’s shoulders lightly.  “I’m not saying you’re mine.  You don’t belong to anyone but yourself.  What I said back there – that was for _their_ benefit, so they won’t touch you again.”

He waits for Grantaire’s response, holding his breath, and Grantaire searches his face for any signs of deception.  The hands on his shoulders are warm, even through the thick fabric, and secure in their weight and he feels oddly safe, standing here with a near-stranger who had just saved his life.  He smiles tentatively.

“Okay then.”  Enjolras smiles, a little twitch at the corner of his lips.  “Thanks.”

They reach the Photography room and stop outside the closed door.  Grantaire moves to take the coat off, but Enjolras stops him and tells him to keep it.

“You need it.”

“I have my own jacket,” Grantaire says, confused.  “It’s okay, you should take it back.  You don’t have another jacket and it’s going to be cold later.”

“Grantaire, just keep it.”  He glances briefly at the door, his jaw tense.  “It might come in handy”

“For what?”  Grantaire pats down the pockets.  “Do you have a weapon in here or something?  What – are these _cigarettes_?”

He pulls out the little cardboard box, still shrink-wrapped, and stares at it.  Enjolras shrugs.

“You can keep those too,” he says.  “I don’t smoke.”

“ _Then why do you have them._ ”  Grantaire thinks he might be hysterical.  No, he most definitely is well on his way there already.  Enjolras sucks in his bottom lip and _no_ , that shouldn’t be attractive – Grantaire certainly doesn’t find Enjolras _attractive_.

“For appearances,” Enjolras says after a moment.  He looks pained.  “Teachers always stop and search me for them anyway, so I figured I’d keep some on me so their efforts don’t go to waste.”

Grantaire gapes at him.  “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Enjolras’ cheeks tinge pink and he snatches them out of Grantaire’s hands, slipping them into his pocket.  He thrusts Grantaire’s camera at him.

“Here.”  He’s looking away now, red as a tomato.  “You should go inside.”

Grantaire takes the camera from him.  There isn’t a single scratch on it, much to his relief, and it starts up fine when he turns it on.  He looks up at Enjolras with a smile.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely.  “Really.”

Enjolras just stares at him, slightly slack-jawed.  The blush has spread to his ears, and his eyes never leave Grantaire’s face.  There’s a long moment where they’re both just staring at each other, hearts skipping a beat, before the door slams open.

“Grantaire! There you are!” Jehan, the club president, exclaims.  He starts when he notices Enjolras.  “Oh, Enjolras, what are you doing here?”

That snaps Enjolras out of his daze and he shakes his head.

“Jehan, I was – just leaving,” he says.  He turns around and strides away a few paces before he pauses again.  He half turns and looks at Grantaire.  “I’ll wait for you at the school gates later.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Grantaire standing in the doorway with Jehan, staring at his retreating back.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [of rebels and art students](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907757) by [wordonawing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordonawing/pseuds/wordonawing)




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